


Parvenu

by linguamortua



Series: Cadet Hux & Sarwen Niral [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Military Academy, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Submission, Sugar Daddy, With Apologies to Patrick O'Brian, Young Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>‘He’s a noted deviant,’ Brendol Hux had said once, ‘and they packed him off to the Outer Rim to avoid a scandal. He managed to break up a two-bit rebellion of tauntaun herders on some ghastly little industrial planet, and now everyone’s conveniently forgotten that he’s the most dreadful <i>parvenu</i> with no manners.’</i>
</p><p> <i>‘Everyone says he’s charming,’ Hux had ventured by way of response, and his father had snorted through his walrus moustache.</i></p><p><i>‘He has a habit of charming young officers into buggery,’ the aging General had said, ‘which is decidedly not the kind of relationship I encourage you to build at the Academy.’</i> </p><p>Or: while studying at the Academy, a young Hux has the pleasure of being invited out for dinner by a faintly scandalous social darling and notorious silver fox of an officer, and learns how much he enjoys sucking dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parvenu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IrisParry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/gifts).



> To [irisparry](http://irisparry.tumblr.com), my partner in slime, who graciously allowed me to expand upon [her delightful idea](http://irisparry.tumblr.com/post/145225669959/re-19yo-hux-in-a-coruscanti-hotel-i-remember).
> 
> General Sarwen Niral, of course, [looks like this](https://66.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m64d1t0KQl1qmc0iu.jpg); I don't know about you, but I find Oded Fehr is just made for illicit liaisons and military uniforms.
> 
> With apologies to the late, great, Patrick O'Brian, whose style I have very poorly imitated here purely for comedic reasons.

Sitting in the large and richly-decorated dining room in Coruscant’s fabled Three Moons hotel, Hux had to wonder what his father would think about his dinner companion. Hux was deep into his second glass of wine, and its dark, full flavour was almost as distracting as the man lounging opposite him at the table. General Sarwen Niral was as tall as Hux and slender, too, but where Hux was still gawky with youth, Niral had a sinewy strength to him that Hux coveted. Hux was pale; Niral had smooth, burnished-copper skin and wore his black hair high and styled at the front and fading into long sideburns. His temples were winged with silver: no great surprise, at forty and with two decades of military service under his belt. His fingers were long, too, and they played with the stem of his wine glass, rolling it back and forth sensuously.

Society rumours suggested that Niral did everything sensuously, which might have explained his astronomical rise to notoriety, were it not for the fact that Niral’s actual daring exploits had been so well-documented on the news holos. He possessed just enough roguish, debonair charm to offset his early disgraces; society was therefore rather infatuated with him, which was why the dashing young General had been able to secure a private booth at the Three Moons apparently on a whim, on the busiest night of the week.

Hux’s father was less inclined to make allowances for Niral; Hux senior was instead concerned with the man’s wholly inappropriate and public sexual liaisons with men.

‘He’s a noted deviant,’ Brendol Hux had said once, ‘and they packed him off to the Outer Rim to avoid a scandal. He managed to break up a two-bit rebellion of tauntaun herders on some ghastly little industrial planet, and now everyone’s conveniently forgotten that he’s the most dreadful _parvenu_ with no manners.’

‘Everyone says he’s charming,’ Hux had ventured by way of response, and his father had snorted through his walrus moustache.

‘He has a habit of charming young officers into buggery,’ the aging General had said, ‘which is decidedly not the kind of relationship I encourage you to build at the Academy.’

As a matter of fact, Niral was both charming and possessed of beautiful manners. Hux had found this out quite by accident. He had been asked to ferry a message to Command Central, and had subsequently been stopped in a corridor by Niral, who, having bafflingly recognised him, paid several flowery compliments to Hux’s mother and immediately invited Hux to dinner.

‘I’d be remiss if I didn’t make the acquaintance of the son of one of our finest Generals,’ Niral had said gallantly, and while Hux had no particular affection for his father, he had a very definite love for the wave of power that washed off Niral as he shook Hux’s hand and gave a bright, white smile. This, Hux knew immediately, was the hand of fate intervening in his life, and be would be remiss not to grasp it.

That had been a week ago, and in the intervening days Hux had tied himself very nearly in knots with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. As a social climbing strategy, tying himself to Niral had much to recommend it. The Hux name presently had the reputation of a stolid, plodding sort of military correctness. To be a Hux was to follow the rules, scrupulously file one’s reports and to be utterly respectful in the most tedious and old-fashioned ways. He had no doubt that his immediate acceptance into the Academy had been a direct result of his father’s and grandfather’s military service, and yet times were changing and Hux felt the urge to change with them. To date, there were no really famous Huxes; none possessed of the sort of stylish elan that made one interesting, none willing to break the mould and do something properly brilliant.

Brilliance, of course, was judged by society rather than by one’s commanding officers, and society was an unknown and fearsome beast to Hux at this point in his young life. To be both a fine, upstanding officer and a fashionable sort of man, he would need the kind of training that neither the Academy nor his father could provide him. Thus, he had accepted Niral’s invitation with a wretched, stammering sort of pleasure, and a few days later a cadet had come running with Niral’s direction at the Three Moons, and a time and date for the dinner.

At present, Niral’s suitability as a tutor in society ways was still somewhat in question. They had begun their dinner with wine and a dish of Corellian olives, and then there had been tiny, delightful wafers of bread with a smear of something red and savoury on each piece. Hux had tried to adopt the languorous disinterest in the food modelled by Niral, but he was twenty years old, and always hungry, and the portions were very fashionably tiny. Small talk was made, the forms upheld; how were Hux’s family, was not the weather very mild and the city very tedious, perhaps Hux was aware of the Three Moons’ reputation for fish? Those pressing questions settled, and some social lubrication consumed, Niral now shifted in his seat and lounged on the table with one insouciant elbow.

‘Second year in the Academy, Hux?’ Niral asked.

‘Yes sir,’ said Hux quickly, ‘or, well, it will be, next month.’

‘Oh stars,’ said Niral, ‘don’t creep and crawl and call me _sir_. Call me Niral like a normal person, there’s a good fellow. If we had to be military all the time I’d die of boredom.’ This was an odd sort of declaration, as both of them were in uniform and Hux would technically be breaking a rule, but he couldn’t very well ignore Niral’s request, so he took an embarrassed swallow of wine and tried to work out ways to never have to _directly_ address the man. ‘I suppose I should ask if you’re being a diligent student and a promising young officer and all that rot?’

‘Oh, I am,’ Hux said, and then blushed, feeling like an enthusiast and a liar besides. Niral’s full lips curled in gentle amusement.

‘Kindly don’t consider me a fool,’ he said dryly. ‘I went to the Academy too, you know.’ He paused, wine glass almost to his lips, which were very red and wet with wine. ‘I don’t make a practice of taking dull little things out for dinner; do not pretend to be one.’

‘Fine,’ Hux said with more spirit, lifting his chin a little. ‘The classes are boring, the other boys are plebs and I can’t wait to get into a _real_ ship.’

‘Capital,’ laughed Niral, as the fish course arrived, dozens of silvery little creatures arranged in tiered layers with glistening, quivering mounds of caviar nestled among them. Hux was very glad of the distraction, for he was conscious of how boyish and stupid he had sounded. The many-tentacled waiter served them each a portion with the delightful artistic flair of a server who could wield nine spoons at once, and then retreated. ‘Do you still do that— what’s it called, the end of term prank?’

‘Yes,’ said Hux, remembering what had happened at the end of his first term, and how singularly unimpressed he had been with the state of his bed, and the smug, leering face of the older boy right before—

‘I heard there was a casualty this year.’

‘So there was,’ Hux said, trying to make a casual, elegant gesture with his fork and succeeding only in dropping some caviar onto the pristine tablecloth. The older boy, Dodds, had been a cruel, lumpen sort of creature and his demise had been quick and discreet. Still, Niral had placed a gentle emphasis on the word _casualty_ , and so Hux attempted to arrange his face into a sort of knowing, competent expression. Of course one could not brag about these little detours, but everyone knew that the Academy was dangerous, especially if you were very stupid, and losses in training were not much mourned. Why, Hux’s father’s cohort had reportedly lost near a dozen recruits, and it had always been represented to Hux as a way of separating the wheat from the chaff; if Hux had taken more initiative than most of the other cadets, that was surely just proof of his superiority to lead.

Niral’s gaze was both amused and uncomfortably penetrating, and Hux briefly sought respite in the slippery leftovers of his fish; the Three Moons may have been famous for the dish but Hux had found the course a rather unsavoury affair, with a disconcertingly slimy texture that required more effort to keep on one’s fork than was made worthwhile by the salty taste. Perhaps noticing his distress, Niral called the waiter over with a flick of his finger and requested ‘something simple for the meat course - a steak, or perhaps one of those very good lamb pies.’ It was a kind gesture. Hux was still quite hungry and he felt he could demolish a steak, which he summarily did, when it arrived all tender and bloody and piled about with delicately-fried vegetables and bright red sauce.

‘You look positively feral,’ Niral said with warm approval, as Hux wiped away the traces of his meal from his chin, blushing as he did so. ‘I suppose you could put dessert away, too?’ The steak and the wine together — his third glass — had made Hux somewhat drowsy, but the Academy frowned upon gastronomic luxury for cadets and the allure of the dessert menu was very great, so he nodded. ‘No sweet tooth myself,’ continued Niral, ‘but the cheese board is always excellent here.’

As they waited for dessert, the conversation lapsed and Hux, bolstered by drink, ventured to ask the question that had been preying upon him from the start. ‘Is it really true—’ Hux began, but then he cut himself off, for questioning a superior officer and one’s dinner host was unbearably rude.

‘No, speak freely,’ said Niral with a wave of his glass. His dark eyes were bright with amusement, crinkling at the corners. Hux was suddenly very aware of how full the dining room was, and of the very large age gap between himself and Niral, and how clearly they were not related to one another. He knew that his ears were very pink and he felt too warm, but he could not dissemble and so he forged on, as if into a battle.

‘People say you were dismissed to the Outer Rim for— for personal reasons.’ He frowned. ‘Which seems—’

 _Unfair_ wasn’t quite right, and _unlikely_ even further from the mark, for Hux knew damned well why Niral had been banished. Only a dark, thrilling sort of mood was compelling him to ask. He wanted very badly to hear Niral say something scandalous and give Hux the opportunity to play the tart.

‘Oh, for fucking boys,’ Niral said, casual yet wolfish. He grinned at Hux. ‘Or young men, I should say, because I do have _some_ morals, base rumour notwithstanding.’

'I suppose one must draw the line somewhere,’ Hux said, hoping he sounded confidingly arch rather than snide, and then he caught his lower lip between his teeth and gazed out the window for a moment, as if a very interesting speeder had just zipped past. This, he was tolerably sure, would show his profile to advantage.

During dessert, Niral expounded upon his exile to the Outer Rim in a series of witty and compelling anecdotes. He was very self-deprecating and yet Hux was left with the strong impression of heroism, which was unfortunately and excessively exciting to him; he shifted in his seat to relieve the increasing pressure in his fitted uniform pants, and tried not to look wanton. Or; not _too_ wanton, at least, for although he was very keen to experience the kind of charms that had got Niral banished to the backend of beyond, he also felt the need to leave himself some kind of graceful exit should the buggery hinted at by his father not be forthcoming.

Dessert was blessedly light and airy, an elegant confection of fruit and cream; it was very hard to eat without making an infernal mess, and made more so by Niral’s scrutiny. While Hux became increasingly sticky and fruit-stained, Niral called for port and a little cheese and nibbled delicately. The sense of being a callow youth in the face of Niral’s fashionable worldliness increased; to gorge oneself on sugar instead of taking the refined, cultured option was surely a sign of immaturity. Still, if Niral disapproved in any way, he didn’t show it. If anything he appeared gratified by Hux’s interest in the food. When Hux finally pushed his plate away with a small whimper of defeat, Niral grinned.

‘Good effort,’ he said laconically. He signalled for the plates to be removed, much to Hux’s relief. Hot towels were brought, and tiny cups of caf, and Hux cleaned himself up as best he could and sipped at the strong, bitter drink to wash the sugar from his mouth. He noticed with alarm that Niral’s eyes fluttered closed with every sip, his long lashes resting on the bronzed curve of his high cheekbone in an horrifically erotic fashion. Amidst the quiet hum of the restaurant, Niral seemed briefly to drowse: a moment of quiet stillness that Hux could observe, unseen, over the rim of his caf cup. He hoped desperately that Niral had some sort of plan for the evening, for having made himself as daring and appealing as possible, Hux now had no clue how to proceed in a seduction. He supposed that these things had a language of their own, which he did not know; Niral, however, was a known polyglot, and his general fluency in all areas of life would surely—

‘Almost ten,’ said Niral suddenly, rousing and glancing at the screen of his wristpad. ‘Could I offer you a digestif upstairs? I’d be mortified if you disgraced yourself in the speeder home; those drivers are devilish rough around the corners.’

‘Yes, please,’ said Hux, too quickly, and as Niral signed off on the bill with a flourishing swirl of a stylus, Hux fought his arms into his jacket and tried to stand without tilting too obviously. He was on his feet, jacket buttoned, before Niral had even finished his caf, which was a very awkward situation: Niral once again saved him by the simple expedient of throwing his own jacket over his shoulder on two fingers and stalking towards the door. From three paces behind him, Hux had an unparalleled view of the smooth, loose play of Niral’s muscular shoulders under his well-cut shirt. The sight made him glad of his long uniform jacket, and even more glad of the private elevator which whisked them up to the top floors with a smooth, mechanical whisper. Hux could have stood for hours at the curved transparisteel and gazed out over Coruscant’s radiant, glittering capital, so far away from the Academy’s provincial isolation on a nearby moon, but Niral whistled to get his attention from down the hall and Hux, doglike, turned to follow him.

It was common knowledge that Niral kept an apartment in Coruscant central, and had also a fine country house on one of the more convivial moons where he threw parties. That he had engaged a room — or, Hux saw as the door swung open and Niral gestured him in, a suite — suggested that there were things about to happen that Niral would rather not have appear in the holo-tabloids. This startling piece of deduction made Hux freeze briefly on the threshold, until a gentle touch to his upper back made him shiver into motion again.

His vacillation was quite unnecessary the end; Niral closed the door and locked it with a wave, hung his jacket on the hook, and then reached for Hux. Hux had never been kissed before. Not properly, anyhow— he did not count the occasional, messy press of mouths in the dormitory, any more than he would call the few fumbled handjobs he had received ‘sex’. His education was propelled forward now, as Niral drew him in with steady, warm hands on his hips and proceeded to make a leisurely, thorough examination of Hux’s mouth with his clever tongue. Hux could only cling to Niral’s immaculate shirt front and lock his knees to stay upright. Niral’s lips were soft, and he smelled like port and expensive scent. He kissed just as he conversed and just as he fought fleet actions: with confidence and flair, as if he were created for it.

Hazy from the wine and food, and thoroughly intoxicated by the hard press of Niral’s body, Hux thought that he might have been created for this, too; it felt very natural that Niral should push him back firmly against the wall, should tip his chin up with his long, long fingers, should take what he wanted. Hux opened his mouth and let him. Their kissing made a soft, wet sound, and Hux could hear his breathing and Niral’s quickening in a gentle crescendo. Of course, Hux was desperately hard and had been since dessert, and in his present state he could not stop himself arching his back to press his erection against Niral. The General’s left hand moved to the small of Hux’s back and held him there and — _oh_ — he slid one taut, muscular thigh up between Hux’s legs.

An audible whimper left Hux’s mouth, and it took all the self-control he had left not to start rubbing off on Niral’s leg. That would have been shameful; Hux was, he found, very willing to cast aside the better part of his shame for tonight, but he was not so desperate that he wanted to come in his pants from hardly a touch. Still, his breath was as ragged as it had ever been in the convincing noise and smoke of a combat training simulation, and at length Niral broke away and gazed down at him, his sloe eyes lidded and amused. He ran a thumb along Hux’s bottom lip, which tingled delightfully after all the assiduous kissing, and Hux opened his mouth for it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he was doing it; sucking gently on it with his eyes closed in a sudden wash of hot bliss. His fingers were still clutching at Niral’s shirt, and presently Niral disentangled him with gentle hands.

‘Perhaps you’d like to use the facilities while I make the drinks,’ he murmured, indicating the door to the refresher. It took every ounce of Hux’s will to drag himself away, and once the door hissed closed he immediately sagged against it to regard his pink, desperate face in the mirror.

‘Get a hold of yourself, Hux,’ he told himself quietly. Through the door, he heard the gentle clink of glasses.

The Three Moons was a very expensive sort of establishment, Hux knew, and the soap foamed with luxurious ease under his shaking hands. He washed his face, hung his jacket on the back of the door and undid the top button of his shirt, violating several uniform directives with all the daring of a man who had had far too much to drink and was no longer capable of engaging the rational part of his brain. He pissed and then, blushing, hurriedly washed his privates over the sink: he supposed that it was good etiquette.

When he emerged from the refresher, Niral handed him a beautifully-cut glass with two fingers of a spicy, aniseed liquid in it and gestured him towards a chair. Hux regarded his drink with faint skepticism and then downed it in one hasty gulp that left him coughing and spluttering with the astringent, alcoholic burn. Niral politely pretended to be absorbed in his own drink while Hux recovered. The minutes stretched out, long and filled with a heavy, sensual anticipation. Niral had orchestrated the whole thing wonderfully; Hux knew, on some level, that he was part of an elegantly-staged tableau, for he was not so very naive that he could not identify a political ploy, and this felt much like politics. Niral finished his drink, set his glass aside, and returned his laser-focus to Hux, whose pants immediately felt yet a little tighter.

'I wonder if you might oblige me, dear boy,’ Niral drawled, and Hux looked about him for the port decanter or something of the sort before he saw the easy sprawl of Niral's thighs and the hungry, predatory look in his dark eyes. He was on his knees before he could formulate any argument against it. Something about Niral’s posture demanded it, guided him to the patch of plush green carpet between Niral’s feet as if his name had been printed there. He felt hesitant, at first; took a moment to arrange himself, brushed a strand of loose hair back into array, paused. He could not make himself look up into Niral’s handsome, hawkish face, and see the look of languorous amusement that no doubt would be residing there, as it had for much of the evening.

Instead, he sucked in a little breath and rested his hands on the loose splay of Niral’s thighs. He was strong, so strong, lean and fit; Hux ran his hands up and up, until his thumbs touched against the warm crease of Niral’s groin and he felt the heavy bulge in his pants. He made short work of the fastenings of Niral’s uniform pants, fumbled briefly at the smooth black shorts underneath and then, to his desperate excitement, freed Niral’s cock.

It was thick and smooth and stood up from Niral’s flat, muscular belly with an admirable upward curve to it. Niral was impeccably depilated and very clean, traits which had not featured in Hux’s limited experience and which now excited him beyond all reason. He reached greedily for Niral and gave him a tentative, gentle downwards stroke which pulled his foreskin away from his delicious, dark red cockhead and made Hux’s mouth water. With a quick lick of his lower lip, Hux pressed his mouth to the tip of Niral’s cock and leaned in, letting it push past the loose ring of his lips and in until it touched his tongue. Niral tasted of nothing in particular, except perhaps just a little salt; emboldened, Hux lapped and tested, playing his tongue around. Above him, there was a susurration of cloth on cloth as Niral shifted on the banquette, relaxing, his legs falling open. When Hux chanced a look upward, he saw that Niral’s head had fallen back against the wall, his arms stretched out along the windowsill as if he was soaking in a warm bath.

Thrilled by Niral’s quiet permission, Hux curled his lips over his teeth and began to bob his head, slowly at first, trying to form his mouth into what he supposed a wet cunt or an arsehole might feel like. His hands were still resting on the fastening of Niral’s pants, and he realised he was gripping quite hard; instead, he ran one hand up into Niral’s hard belly.

‘That’s terribly distracting, darling,’ murmured Niral. Hux tried to say sorry, but it came out a mumble and he drooled down his chin, his fingers twitching with disappointment as he moved his hands back to Niral’s thighs. ‘Perhaps you could put them behind your back?’ Niral’s voice was low and lazy, as if it were really a suggestion, but Hux understood orders and he clasped his hands behind him as if at parade rest. With no counterbalance, it was very hard to control depth — quite soon Hux’s abdominal muscles started to ache — but there was also the wonderful possibility of Niral’s cock slipping back down towards his throat. This, Hux realised, felt quite unfairly good. He tried to do it on purpose, relaxing his jaw until Niral’s cockhead nudged at the back of his palate and made his eyes water. If Niral wanted to, he could push up just a little and breach Hux’s throat, fuck the tight channel of him.

This was a very dangerous line of thought. Hux had been called a cocksucker many times; so many times that the epithet had rather lost its sting as an insult and now, with Niral’s generous dick stretching out his mouth, hardly seemed like an insult any more. It could not compare to handjobs, not at all, for even though he was not touching himself and Niral was making no effort to reciprocate, Hux was on the verge of going off untouched like the virgin he so shamefully was. He throbbed with a warm, building pleasure, a pleasure that spiked every time Niral’s cock twitched and pulsed a little more salt-savoury into his waiting mouth.

Hux’s eyes were streaming and he was drooling terribly; each short, quick breath through his nose was wet and loud. He realised with a start that he was vocalising his need, too, in little whimpers and swallowed-off moans, greedy, surprised sounds; any hope he might have had of passing himself off as experienced had surely evaporated by now. It was at that moment that Niral reached down and pulled Hux off his cock. Hux prepared himself for correction — _oh, please correct me_ , he thought — but Niral only looked at him, his gaze running over Hux’s wet mouth with a deep, catlike satisfaction that set Hux’s groin thrumming anew. Niral’s long, elegant hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he made as if to feed it back into Hux’s half-open mouth. It looked very pretty all swollen and spit-wet; Hux was keen to resume the proceedings, but Niral teased him, drawing back so that Hux had to work for it and show precisely how desperate he was to continue.

Hux’s mouth was deliciously briny, and his jaw hurt, and his collar was damp with saliva and sweat. His knees had started to burn and his back and neck protested this new configuration greatly, but everything was so far away, so hazy and unimportant. Any other time he might be chagrined by his disarray (hair sticking to his forehead, shirt rumpled, boots scuffing the polish off one another as he shuffled and writhed on his knees), but tonight there was nothing more important than swallowing Niral’s cock down with all the fervour of a desert-parched man drinking a glass of water. Nor was the General immune to the passion of the moment: Hux was quite aware of how Niral’s hips were beginning to rise to meet Hux’s mouth, and how deep and audible his breathing had become. Niral groaned, once, lower and more ardently than Hux could have imagined. In a flash, Hux found his right hand fumbling at his pants; without permission, but that didn’t seem to matter in the moment. He barely had to squeeze at himself before he was coming into his hand in a jerking, awkward way, moaning around Niral’s cock and generally making a presentation of himself. Whether it was fortuitous timing, or whether it was the sight of Hux sweaty and pink on the floor with his cock leaking into his hand, something tipped Niral over the edge. He clutched once at Hux’s hair, firmly but not cruelly, pressed up against the back of Hux’s throat and then flooded Hux’s mouth with his spunk.

Hux swallowed it — of course he did, _and what a digestif, he thought to himself_ — and he couldn’t help the noises he made, rocking his hand against his cock through all the perfect aftershocks. There was a brief silence, but for their breathing; when Niral finally looked down at Hux, he was a touch flushed and his satisfaction was cut by an ugly sort of cynicism.

‘This is usually the point where you delightful young things ask me for something you want,’ he prompted, his beautiful mouth twisting wryly. Hux had to make a conscious effort to process that sentence, and the political part of his brain that earlier in the evening had been so keen to derive a material benefit from their dinner was abruptly shoved aside by his baser nature—

‘I want to do it again,’ he said, slurring a little because his jaw was very tired, and he was very loose and happy from the endorphins sailing around his body. That was not the whole of it; he also, he thought, would like Niral to fuck him, for if this was what being a cocksucker was like, he was rather excited to learn the actualities of all the other deprecating slurs that young men threw at one another.

‘You might be waiting a while,’ Niral said, with a bark of laughter.

‘I can wait,’ Hux told him, resting his cheek against the comfortingly warm pillow of Niral’s left inner thigh. Niral petted his hair, just once, very nicely indeed; Hux thought he could fall asleep right here and damn the consequences to his bruised knees. For a moment he thought he would be allowed to, and then Niral shifted, dislodging him, and reached for a napkin to wipe himself off. As he fastened himself away he smiled down at Hux.

‘You’re a damned good sport, Hux,’ he said reflectively — sincerely, too, it seemed — but he did not ask Hux to stay. Instead, he handed Hux a fresh napkin, gave him a spare minute to clean himself and then ushered him towards the door with perfect good grace. At the door Niral paused contemplatively, giving Hux a long and considering look, and then he bid Hux an elegant good night and showed him to the elevator.

It was only after he had stood sweating and spunk-stained with several other guests in the elevator, traversed the wide, busy lobby with its late-night rush of post-theatre guests and hailed a speeder that Hux realised he had left his best uniform jacket hanging in Niral’s refresher. With exquisite timing, his wristpad flashed with a new message and he tapped it open.

 _Very well played, dear boy,_ it began, _I suppose you’ll be by tomorrow to pick up your jacket? I have the suite for another two nights._ It didn’t do to look desperate, and yet his fingers sent a reply of their own volition, utterly bypassing his brain. Hux grinned out the window into the beautiful Coruscanti night, his face aching in the most delightful way, and he sent the message.

_Yes, please._


End file.
